


Five times Jaime helped Cersei remember

by orphan_account



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-24 21:15:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6167077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cersei has a forgetting illness. <br/>Grasping this chance to start afresh, Jaime is a different person to her each day: Brother, Knight, Friend, Lover and Husband. <br/>He is everything to her. And now, she finally understands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Brother

“They say the Queen’s losing her mind,” whispered one. “For all the sins she committed,” whispered the other, nodding in agreement.

“The wench deserves it”. 

The cowled figure at the back of the inn sipped his ale slowly, intrigued. It had been six long years since he had last seen his bitter, cunning sister and he had heard all manners and forms of japes, songs, insults and whispers about her in the inns of the Seven Kingdoms. Once they may have angered him, for she was his other half, but now – no longer. He was curious to know what she was like now - was she raving mad? Well, she deserves it, he thought, not without a twinge of unease at the savage feeling of satisfaction that rose in his throat. For all that she had cheated and lied to him, Cersei was still family. But she had used him, and he couldn't forgive that, ever. He had remained faithful to her, loyal in his love and she had contemptuously gone behind his back to...His life was empty. It was becoming difficult for him to wake in the mornings, for his mind would say in a dull tone, "Nothing. There's nothing to live for." Perhaps, some answers from Cersei would help him move on. 

And so he rode to the Red Keep and rushed through its corridors, still in his white Kingsguard armour – searching for her with a strange yearning for the past. Searching for her to fill the holes in his heart - black and empty, threatening to make his life worthless. 

To no avail. He could not meet Cersei throughout the day. Littlefinger's whispered condolences made him dully suspicious of whether she had been kidnapped or assassinated. There would be no mourning on his part if so, he reminded himself. This was the woman who had looked upon his deformity like a stale slab of meat. The woman who had been fucking Kettleblack, Lancel and perhaps even Moon Boy for all he knew. 

By night, when he had given up and decided to leave, setting for the stables with his greatsword and still clad in his armour, after a brief conversation with the now grown, responsible and weary King Tommen. But, he spotted a pale, frail figure aimlessly sauntering in the corridors with the muted firelight making her face shine golden. A dull throb began in his heart, unbidden.

Cersei wore a thin green silk gown, and looked like a porcelain doll from the shops of King’s Landing, with her free-flowing golden curls tied loosely with a light-blue ribbon, wide emerald eyes flecked with gold and long, pale lashes and a rose-blossom smile. He stood in front of her for a moment, awestruck, noting that only the fine silver woven through her gold and the slight creases near her eyes gave away her true age. When he leant even closer, he was shocked by how much she had aged since he last saw her, lines coating her forehead and creasing around her chin as she frowned uncertainly at him. 

“Cersei?” he whispered tenderly enough to surprise himself, appalled by the changes in her, yet strangely shocked as he always was by how alike they looked. It was like looking in a mirror. Only the curve of her nose and slight shape of her face differed from him. They were like two images of perfection for each gender. 

Cersei squinted up at him, her eyes slightly bloodshot, “Who are you?” The dull throb in his heart turned into a stab of shock and panic. There were no answers for him here. 

From her blank stare and aimless wandering, Jaime realized she probably had a forgetting illness, as the commonfolk in the various inns had been gossiping about. He cupped her face gently with his good hand, puzzled, and she flinched away, looking at his golden hand with some distaste. Some things hadn’t changed. “You look like me,” she murmured.

“I am your brother, Jaime,” Jaime whispered back, his throat constricted and painful because she had forgotten him. She had forgotten him. "Don't you remember?"

“My brother?” Cersei smiled so sweetly and innocently, tears came unbidden to Jaime’s eyes. He hadn’t remembered her smile like that in years. Not since she married the great oaf Robert Baratheon. She embraced him in a rush and they held each other for a while, faces lit by the fires burning in the sconces. This wasn't Cersei- so trusting. Cerise was a manipulative, scheming bitch. He loved her cruel, untempered side. He loved her streak of vengeance. Why was she so broken?

Why hadn't he come for her when she begged for him? How much had she gone through, all alone in this terrible place? He felt like a great, lumbering fool. He wanted to run his sword through every man and woman who had poisoned and wrecked her so much that her mind decided to forget everything and start afresh. He shook his head slightly - there was no point in empty revenge. He would help her write new, clean things on her blank slate, make her happy as she never was in her old life. They would build a new life. Every waking moment.

He took her hand gently, “You shouldn’t be roaming the corridors alone by night. The Red Keep is a dangerous place.”  
Cersei nodded and bit her lip. “Can you take me back to my room? I do not know-”

Jaime nodded silently, linking arms with her and steering her slowly to her chamber, “It has been so many years Cersei,” he remarked softly. It was all he could say, and she hummed in response, her eyes blank and uncomprehending once again. She looked around the ceiling, walls and floor of the Red Keep curiously, and Jaime wondered if she’d already forgotten all that he’d told her.

He felt like a big, protective brother, back to help her. It confused him greatly. He felt none of the passion he usually felt with Cersei tonight, only guilt, longing and - pity. The old Cersei would slap him if she heard that. The new Cersei had a blank look on her face. Jaime swallowed the painful lump in his throat.

Once in her room, Cersei walked swiftly to her bed and curled up into the blankets like a child. She fell asleep almost as soon as she hit the pillow, tired from her night-time stroll. Jaime tucked her in firmly and gently kissed her forehead. Gods, he was growing old.

Her eyes popped open, glassy and afraid, “Who are you?” she screamed at his face as his lips touched her hot skin.  
Jaime put his hand on her mouth and tried to restrain her struggles, “Stop, or you'll wake the whole Keep! I'm your brother Jaime!” he whispered harshly against her thrashing and she went limp, tired.  


Carefully he lay down next to her and laid a protective arm around her so she wouldn’t walk away, as she looked at him curiously.  


“Brother?” she whispered, her face to him, and Jaime stroked her soft hair with his good hand.  


“Yes, dear sister. I’ll keep you safe, don’t worry. Go to sleep.”  


She smiled drowsily and whispered "Brother" in a satisfied tone, and Jaime kissed a dimple. He watched her sleep for a long time, her face peaceful, with a small contented smile wrought on it.


	2. Knight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff.

When Cersei woke, she was curious about the handsome knight asleep next to her. She trailed her fingers through his sun-kissed blonde hair, cropped short, and then down his sharp, long nose. She giggled as he sneezed when the silk sleeve of her night-gown brushed his nostrils.

Bloodshot eyes cracked open slightly and the knight swore under his breath.

“Not words to be used before a lady, Ser,” Cersei scolded, and the knight screwed his eyes against the light and ran his fingers through his hair, propping himself up. He had a sardonic smile on his face. 

“Rise and shine, my lady? You should get ready for court.”

Cersei smiled genially and slipped out of bed. She called for a maid –whose name she couldn’t remember - to prepare two baths for them. She admired the knight’s armour as he shifted about, slipping his gloves on. It was paneled with silvery white scales and almost iridescent in the morning sunlight. As he shuffled out with a hasty “See you soon,” Cersei thought to correct his courtesy, but decided against it. She would remind him if he repeated the mistake. 

She emerged from her hot bath, refreshed. Her gown was sapling-green satin with sleeves and neck embroidered in a darker leaf-green. It matched her eyes perfectly. She slipped on a thin golden chain and bracelet with golden leaves. 

Her knight was waiting for her outside, in the same breath-taking suit of white enamel with a flowing white fur-cloak behind him. It appeared newly washed unlike the one she’d found hanging in her chamber, which had some rather ugly stains on it. 

“How may I address you Ser?” The knight smirked playfully, linking arms with her.

“Ser Jaime.” It was a wonderful name, like from a song. 

Court was a tiring spectacle, but Cersei thought the king was magnificent. He had blonde curls, and carried an ample frame, with a dessert platter permanently parked next to his throne. Three well-kept cats with glossy coats rolled on the ground before him, playing and fighting. The king periodically bent to scoop one up in his arms and cuddle it when he was presented with a particularly vexing issue. But his solutions were always reasonable and the court seemed generally pleased by his decisions. 

“He is a good king, is he not, Ser Jaime?”

Ser Jaime was frowning at the king, lines coating his chin. “Wise, but he needs to appear stronger than that. I would get rid of those cats and that dessert platter.”

“What’s brute strength when you have wisdom and power,” Cersei remarked knowingly and Jaime retorted, “Strength is what brings respect. And keeps you alive.”

“My Lady,” Cersei corrected gently. It would not do for her knight to forget his courtesies in front of others. As before, an infuriating smirk spread on his face. 

She was distracted by a sly, beautiful woman – the queen, gliding through the Throne Room. With displeasure, she noted how the king’s face brightened at her sight. She was dressed like a seductress in a deep cut gown of finely embroidered, glittering gold interspersed with black threads, tailored to fit her swelling belly from the king’s child. A single rose-brooch made of rubies was pinned to her elaborate hairdo. Cersei touched her own greying, flowing locks, only held up by a single wooden clip at the back, self-consciously. 

“The Queen,” Jaime whispered in her ear, and noted with amusement how her eyes narrowed and lips pursed. 

“Ser Jaime!” Tommen called out.

“Yes, your grace.” Jaime descended on one knee before the king.

“Welcome to King’s Landing. What brings you here uncle?”

“Perhaps, he remembers he is a Kingsguard finally.” Mace Tyrell, the Hand, snorted to some laughter from the rest of court. 

Ser Jaime, seeing clearly that the Tyrells held full sway over court, ignored his taunt. “To visit my sister, you grace. After that I must return to the North where matters of the Crown remain to be settled.”

“Uncle Jaime, you have helped hold this realm together for many years. For that I am eternally thankful to you. I ask you to stay here in the Keep and resume your duties on the Small Council and as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.”

Jaime cocked his head to the side, “Is that an order your grace?”

Tommen hesitated, chewing his lip, and Margaery gave him a pointed glance. “Ye-yes, Ser Jaime.”

Jaime stood up, his armour clanking. “So be it, your grace. But I ask you to acknowledge the presence of the queen, who has been standing near you for quite a while now. She deserves the respect.”

Mace Tyrell snorted, and Margaery smiled slightly.

“The Queen?” Cersei stuttered.

“I acknowledge the presence of the queen,” Tommen bowed like a chastised child. 

“The queen does not remember many things, Ser Jaime,” Ser Baelish informed him softly, as the court tittered.

Cersei seemed to have been struck by a sudden note of clarity. “Of course, I perfectly remember, Lord Baelish. I am the true queen of the Seven Kingdoms. No one can replace me.” She smiled challengingly at Margaery who tilted her chin up to her in defiance.

“Come, Ser Jaime. I am in need of fresh air.” Taken aback, Jaime took her arm, and they proceeded out of the Throne Room and through the corridors to the gardens, escaping the prying eyes and gossiping mouths. 

When they walked through a particularly dark corridor, out of nowhere, Jaime saw a man leap toward Cersei, aiming a knife at her throat. Jaime drew his sword out, slashing him away. Alerted by Cersei’s scream, he swiveled to find another rugged man behind him, also making for her, and cut him down from the back. There were two more rushing toward them. They had Braavosi blades and were adept and agile, their faces hooded. Jaime struggled to keep them off, and caught a slight knick from one of their pointed blades at his neck, just preventing it from cleanly sweeping off his head with a timely duck.

Suddenly a large bust toppled one of the bravos over, sending him sprawling. Jaime made short work of him and his companion, leaving them in a mess of blood and gore on the floor.

After scanning the surroundings for danger one last time, Jaime covered the distance between him and Cersei in two long strides, cupping her face worriedly. Her eyes were wide with shock at the scene before her, and she was flushed deep red. 

“Are you hurt?” he asked her.

“My brave knight,” Cersei whispered, running her hand along the side of his face.  


“Aye, but you were no fainting maiden,” Jaime remembered the sculpture that crushed the first bravo. He took her hands that were bleeding with scratches from gripping the bust, and kissed them. 

Cersei laughed softly, her eyes full of tears of happiness. She tip-toed and pressed a whisper of a kiss on Jaime’s lips. “My knight,” she proclaimed again, joyfully

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be 'Friend'. Any suggestions?


End file.
